A Good Man is Hard to Find
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: Worn down by all-nighters, a touch of illness, and some unwanted combat training, McKay would like nothing more than a warm bed and to be left alone. Sheppard insists otherwise. McKeller friendship/pre-ship, McShep friendship - One Shot


Disclaimer: I can stake no claim to any of the characters who appear in this story, unfortunately. Well, I could, but it would waste thousands of dollars and precious litigation resources.  
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Jennifer Keller  
Rating: K

A/N: Hi there. This is just a little One Shot that wouldn't leave me be after I saw "Trio," an episode I absolutely adored. The result is below. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy, and leave a review to let me know what you think.

* * *

McKay sighed for what seemed, to Sheppard, to be the hundredth time. It wasn't the usual sigh of aggravation, though, but one indicative of fatigue. Maybe he'd pushed him too hard during their combat training earlier. McKay's sluggish reactions had frustrated him – it was as if the man had regressed since last they trained in hand-to-hand exchanges – and he might have been a little too hard on him about it. 

"Look alive, Rodney," he chided with a probing smirk, sliding a fork-full of chicken into his mouth, continuing while he chewed. "It's only eight o'clock. Movie Night isn't for another hour, and I am _not_ letting you fall asleep in my room again."

McKay rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on! That was _one time_. I'd been up for thirty-six hours finishing the macros for the Midway gate, not to mention overlooking the work of that merry band of clingy buffoons Sam refers to as a 'staff,' and I can't be certain, but I think I may have had an inner ear infection at the time because it hurt a little when I would swallow, and -"

"- and then you fell asleep and drooled all over my carpet all night. I used to like to sit on the floor, you know. Now I get creeped out when I take my shoes off."

McKay was poised to offer a retort, but the words died on his tongue. Instead, he grunted and stabbed his fork into his pasta, digging the palm of his free hand into his forehead, just above his eye.

Sheppard's voice betrayed the first hint of concern.

"You all right?"

"I'm fine," the scientist replied miserably, clumsily pulling a pasta shell off of his fork, chewing it as if he were drunk.

His friend watched him skeptically, frowning as he noticed the thin sheen of sweat just above his brow.

"Your grimace would disagree," Sheppard observed. His tone was casual, but McKay knew better. "Did you pull another all-nighter or something?"

McKay glared at him.

"So what if I did?"

Sheppard's own glare proved more foreboding, and before he even opened his mouth, the scientist looked away uncomfortably.

"Rodney, do we really need to go over this again? You're running yourself into the ground. Keller's been after me for two months about your physicals."

"What?!" the physicist snapped. "How dare she! That's confidential information. What's next, dramatic readings of my diary entries over the city PA?!"

Sheppard sighed.

"Listen, Rodney – " he began, before pausing abruptly. "Wait, you have a diary?"

"I – what? – no!" McKay snarked defensively. "It – that was hyperbole, Colonel! A wild flight of fancy."

Sheppard found himself drifting down a familiar road. It was so easy to get caught up in banter with McKay that he'd usually forget the point he was trying to make. He'd be diligent and stay on topic on this occasion, though.

"All right, McKay, just forget about the sleep thing for a minute. You look like crap, okay?"

"What, and you're Botox Sally?"

"Comparatively, yes," Sheppard countered coolly. "Now, how long have you been feeling like this?"

An uncomfortable moment lingered between them, during which McKay calculated whether he had the energy to continue with the charade, as he usually might. In the end, though, his head throbbing beyond reason, he capitulated.

"Last night," he answered quietly.

"Just the headache? Or do you have a fever?"

"How the hell should I know, Florence Nightingale?" McKay snapped. "I don't take my temperature every time my head hurts."

Sheppard predictably ignored the acerbic tone. Taking one last bite of his chicken, the soldier slid out of his chair and stood up, gesturing for his friend to do the same.

McKay looked up at him confusedly.

"I'm not done yet."

"Sure you are," Sheppard smirked, taking the man's tray from him.

"Hey!"

The scientist stood to give chase as Sheppard moved to dispose of their trays, but before he could take a step, he was landlocked by a wave of dizziness, which sprang from nowhere and swam through his head with violent strokes.

Before he knew what was happening, McKay could feel Sheppard's steadying hand on his bicep.

"Easy there."

The room spun for several seconds more, the light so bright it seemed to scorch the nerve endings behind his eyes. When the dizziness finally subsided, McKay could feel Sheppard's optics regarding him with something between amusement and trepidation.

"Sorry," the scientist mumbled.

Sheppard smirked gently.

"It's all right," he said, keeping hold of McKay's arm and pulling him away from the table. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To get you checked out."

"I don't wanna go to the infirmary," McKay groused.

"Keller's working today."

Sheppard almost laughed at the way his expression changed.

"Well, um… I suppose it couldn't hurt to… be sure. I'm a very important person, after all. As I go, so goes Atlantis, and… such."

"Absolutely," the soldier placated, guiding him out of the mess hall.

They walked in silence for a minute or so, McKay's steps lumbering and ungainly. Sheppard chided himself for not having paid more attention earlier, especially when they were training. That was obviously the last thing his friend had needed today.

Searching for some conversation to make the trip go faster for the ailing astrophysicist, Sheppard considered his amusing reaction to the mention of Atlantis' doctor.

"So, what's with you and Keller, by the way?"

McKay's response was, as expected, flummoxed.

"Who, um, what? 'With?' Nothing. I don't know what you mean."

Sheppard grinned.

"That's a pretty flustered response for 'nothing.'"

"I'm always flustered."

"Well… touché."

It seemed for a few moments as if that was all he was going to get out of him, but McKay surprised him by speaking again.

"She's really nice to people," he blurted out.

Sheppard regarded him with a strange smile, encouraging him to continue.

"That's all. She's just… really nice. It makes me want to be nice too."

The soldier's smile widened, but he didn't venture a response. There wasn't anything he could say to that.

* * *

It had been thankfully quiet in the infirmary that day. In fact, the most pressing ailment Keller had been presented with was Zelenka's forearm "rash," which amounted to a series of closely clustered scratches that the Czech had thought too much of. She'd sent him away with a mild ointment, so as not to embarrass him. 

The two nurses on call had been working hectic schedules of late and, since Keller herself felt full of energy and there was really nothing for them to do, she'd offered to hold down the fort alone until Dr. Crispin and his nurses came in for the late shift.

Now, in blissful silence, her feet propped up on the chair next to her, Keller reviewed the most recent atmospheric readings of Atlantis' new home planet. It had been quite kind to them so far. In fact, it was so much like Lantea that she found herself constantly forgetting they'd relocated at all.

She was just about finished with the report when she heard the infirmary doors slide open. Setting the computer tablet down on her desk, Keller ventured out of her office, smiling when she saw Sheppard and McKay.

"Hey," she greeted, a little surprised. "I'm hoping this is a social visit, but considering your guys' track record…"

Sheppard returned her smile.

"No such luck."

McKay moved as if to speak, but before he could even open his mouth, Keller's discerning eyes were upon him, taking in the dullness of his own optics and the wetness above his brow. Moving in presumptuously, without a word to her patient, the doctor put her hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat she felt.

"How long's he been like this?" she asked, turning to Sheppard.

"Excuse me!" the scientist grumbled. "I'm standing right here!"

Sheppard ignored him.

"He said since last night."

"Something I could have told you if you acknowledged I was standing in front of you," McKay muttered.

Keller smiled apologetically, then took McKay by the elbow and gently directed him toward the near bed. The fact that he let her do it without another barb told her all she needed to know.

When the scientist gingerly sat down on the bed's edge, Sheppard took a few steps back.

"Well, it looks like you've got things under control here, Doc," he said, gesturing toward the door. "So I think I'll just…"

Keller nodded friendlily.

"I'll take good care of him."

"I would expect nothing less."

McKay, who had tuned out momentarily with the ache in his head, suddenly broke from his reverie, looking to Sheppard with something like desperation.

"Wait! You're leaving?"

Sheppard waved off his concern – literally – turning toward the door.

"You'll be fine," he called out over his shoulder. "Feel better, buddy."

And just like that, McKay and the good doctor were alone. His head hurt so bad that it was a wonder he had the energy to feel nervous, but he did. Not that he had any reason to. He and Keller were friends. They'd been alone together several times, and it had never been anything less than pleasant.

Maybe that was just it. They were usually alone together in a social setting, where he had full – well, maybe not full, but _more_ – control of his faculties. Here, though, with his head pounding, he was likely to make a fool of himself or snap at her or offend her. It was just what he did.

He swallowed, averting his eyes as Keller dug a thermometer out of a drawer near the bed. If she noticed his discomfort, she didn't show it, turning back to her patient with a soft smile, thermometer in hand. It unnerved him when he felt a knot in his stomach at the simple sight.

"You are in here far more than a healthy man your age should be," she said, pressing the thermometer against his ear.

McKay forced himself to look at her.

"Trust me, I don't _want_ to be here."

Keller raised her eyebrow, but didn't look offended. McKay wasn't good at gauging that kind of thing, though, so as he usually did, he began to ramble an apology.

"Oh, no! I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that, the sick come here, and I never desire to be sick. Not that you're not charming enough to make someone want to get sick… but, um, not necessarily charming in _that_ way, just a… general… kind of… charm…"

He trailed off, finally seeing the amused glint in her eye. She held up the thermometer, as if to remind him of the reason for his visit, and her eyes took on a more serious look.

"102.1," she read with disapproval.

McKay ducked his head, as if the result embarrassed him. Maybe it did. Maybe it should have. He didn't have much time to think about it, though, because he felt her hands on him a moment later, feeling the glands on his neck. He used to hate it when Beckett would do that – he'd refer to it as his "nonsense prodding" – but if he was honest, it felt kind of nice when she did it.

"Any pain anywhere but your head?"

"Um… no," he said. "Though… I feel kinda… sore in general."

She frowned.

"You didn't exert yourself today, did you?"

McKay cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Well…"

"What? What did you do?"

"I may have done some… combat training earlier."

Keller sighed, regarding the scientist as if he were a child.

"Combat training."

McKay raised his chin defensively.

"Hey, don't blame me! Talk to Das Führer Sheppard!"

Keller's expression softened. It was extremely difficult to remain miffed at the man when he blurted things out with such endearingly desperate conviction. And considering how terrible he appeared to be feeling just then, she'd let him off gently.

"Just try to have more sense next time, okay? Consider it a personal favor."

She turned back to the drawer where she'd gotten the thermometer, coming back with a tongue depressor and otoscope.

"A personal favor. So you'd… _owe_ me then."

"Don't get your hopes up, Rodney."

McKay's eyes widened.

"Oh, no! I didn't mean it like that! I just, um – "

"Stick out your tongue."

" – I – wait, what?"

Keller rolled her eyes, turning on the otoscope light.

"I need to check your throat," she said.

"Oh, uh… right."

McKay complied, waiting impatiently as she took a look much longer than he thought was necessary. He swallowed a quip when she pulled back. There was no need to make more of a fool of himself than he already had. At the rate he was going, she'd never talk to him again after this.

She didn't remark on what she'd seen as she put the otoscope back where she found it, so he assumed there wasn't an infection. He was grateful for that, because even after everything he'd been through here on Atlantis – Wraith stunners, concussions, broken bones, and on and on – there was still nothing more detestable to him than a raw throat. It made him want to curl up in the fetal position.

He was lost in thought when she spoke again, penlight in hand.

"Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Um, yeah… sure."

"You're as atrocious a liar as you are brilliant."

McKay thought for a moment to take offense, but paused, the smallest of smiles forming.

"Brilliant?"

"That was an insult, Rodney, not a compliment."

The scientist shrugged.

"Well, you know me… glass half-full kinda guy."

Keller laughed aloud at that, a sound McKay decided he loved. Then she held up her penlight, shining in it in her patient's eyes one at a time, surprised that, though he flinched, he didn't complain.

"Looks okay," she said encouragingly, turning the light off. "Follow the pen with your eyes."

McKay complied, though he couldn't hold back a smirk as he did.

"I have a fever, not a concussion."

"They're not mutually exclusive, Rodney."

He found himself feeling numb whenever she said his name. It sounded nice on her tongue.

"No, I suppose they're not."

"Did you hit your head yesterday?" she asked. He shook the head in question in the negative, as she slipped the penlight back in her pocket. "Good. Your reactions were a little slow, but not enough to indicate you're concussed. I think we're dealing with something a little more basic."

"What's that?"

Keller pursed her lips reprovingly, but McKay was too busy staring at them to look contrite.

"The human body doesn't particularly enjoy stress and exhaustion. Since you so love to torture _yours_ in that way, things like this happen."

McKay blinked a few times, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

"Are you saying I'm just tired?"

"Oh, you're _beyond_ tired, Rodney. This is getting into zombie territory."

"Zombie!" McKay blustered. "I may have a mild case of eczema on my lower leg, but – "

Keller snorted in amused frustration.

"Good lord, do you take _everything_ as an affront?"

McKay averted his gaze briefly, but when he couldn't think of a clever remark, he sighed and looked back at her.

"Usually, yeah."

Keller looked into his eyes for a few moments. It scared McKay to death what she might be searching for, or worse, what she might find, but somehow he knew she wouldn't use it against him. He was right, for after a time, she shook her head and smiled fondly at him.

"Why don't you lie down?" she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder and applying mild pressure before he had a chance to respond.

McKay wanted nothing more than to go back to his quarters and curl up pathetically where no one could see him, but the thought of lying down right then and there was appealing in its own right when he felt her delicate hand on him, so he gave in, unadroitly turning onto his back and swinging his legs up onto the bed. She helped him.

"Oh God," he groaned, sighing as he felt the pillow sink under his head. "That's good."

McKay closed his eyes, hoping to dull the pain behind them, and though Keller didn't say anything, he had the sense that she was smiling as he heard her moving to the other side of the bed. He listened to her rifling through another drawer, hoping she wasn't going to find something to prod him with. The last thing he wanted was the prick of a needle or one of the myriad of cumbersome devices that Beckett had always loved to inflict upon him.

After a minute or so, he heard her shaking something, and moments later, he felt the blissful relief of a cold compress as she carefully laid it across his forehead.

"This should help," she said kindly.

McKay exhaled a contented breath, replying quietly, "That's nice."

He stayed like that for a short while, before he heard the sound of metal-on-floor and slowly opened his eyes. Squinting in preparation for the infirmary's bright lights, he was surprised and grateful to find them dimmed. Equally surprising was that Keller had pulled up a chair next to the bed, and she sat watching him curiously.

"What?" he asked lazily.

Keller smiled disarmingly.

"People don't really get you, do they?"

McKay rolled his head back to the center of the pillow, closing his eyes again.

"Well, you can't blame them. I'm about ten times smarter than most of them," he replied, surprising her with how matter-of-factly he said it. "Except you."

Keller's small smile broadened. It was an unexpected compliment, and she knew it to be genuine. Try as he now did to spare people's feelings or placate them, his skills and filter in that area were still meager at best. She felt a warmth in her stomach at knowing he respected her intellect that much.

Before she realized what she was doing, she spoke candidly.

"You're all kinds of things people don't give you credit for."

McKay grunted quietly in self-deprecation.

"No, I'm not," he mumbled. "I'm a jackass."

"No, you're not. You're an action hero, remember?"

McKay smiled sleepily, letting out a tiny laugh, making a mock-gun with his thumb and pointer finger before letting his hand fall back to his side.

"That's me," he murmured, his voice drowsy. "John McClain. Bustin' bad guys."

"I picture you more as a Jimmy Stewart type."

McKay scoffed.

"Jimmy Stewart? He wasn't a hero."

"Sure he was. He made a bunch of westerns, remember? He was always a smart, rugged guy. Overcame the odds by thinking it through."

McKay thought about it for a moment.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "And anyway, he's got a better hairline."

Keller laughed softly.

"There's always that."

A minute or so passed in silence and the doctor watched McKay's face with interest, finding it preposterously endearing the way the tiniest of sighs would escape him or the way his tongue would just barely slide out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip. He was more precious than he knew.

"How ya doing?" she asked quietly.

McKay didn't respond. He just let out another well-earned sigh, fast asleep.

Keller smiled gratefully, thankful for the relief he now felt in sleep's peaceful grip. If she was honest, though, she had to admit that there was a part of her waiting – maybe hoping even – for a hitch. McKay had refused to elaborate, but she'd gathered that his avoidance of sleep was tied to his perception that the act was unpleasant. She'd presumed that his elusive response indicated a propensity for bad dreams, the kind that haunt you long after they end.

For all his arrogance, he was just as – if not more – brutal to himself. It was difficult to get specifics out of him, but he clearly blamed himself for Weir's demise. Losing a good friend was hard enough in and of itself, but to feel culpable for it was a thing she couldn't fathom.

Sliding out of her chair to check the compress on his forehead, Keller couldn't help lingering above him, overcome by a sudden compulsion she couldn't account for, but which she could not resist.

Leaning down, she placed a soft kiss on his brow.

When she sat back down, she wondered why she'd done that. It was an impulse too potent to ignore, but one which rose up out of a place she'd never been to. Maybe sometimes people just deserved things. She was pretty sure Rodney did.

Keller retrieved an old paperback book from her office, a frayed collection of Flannery O'Connor stories, then reclaimed her seat beside his bed. She sat there for longer than she probably knew, rereading her favorite fiction and looking up every minute or so to make sure McKay's sleep was still placid.

Maybe people just deserved that. Or maybe it was just him. She didn't suppose it mattered.

* * *

FIN


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